What’s worse than a loaded swim diaper?

The Mommy Prayers summer crew packed its bags last week for a too-short trip to Martha’s Vineyard, one of the most magical places on God’s green earth. It was our first time away since our, er, quirky trip to North Dakota, which was fascinating and elucidating but a bit too much work to be called a vacation. 

Once we made it off the ferry, Mr. Mommy Prayers and I snuck off to the beach (it’s kind of famous, actually) to reminisce about all the crazy and beautiful times we’d had on M.V. pre-kids, while the very much present-tense children stayed behind at the Inn to watch World Cup Soccer. 

As we talked and read dug our toes in the sand, we were well aware of the envious looks – or perhaps the better word is murderous –being cast our way by parents with tiny offspring in full-blown meltdown mode.

To which I can only retort: Been there, O parents, done that! 

There’s only one thing more hideous that trying to get a toddler to leave the beach willingly, and that’s trying to get a toddler in a loaded swim diaper to leave the beach willingly. 

Oh wait, there is one thing worse — when the swim diaper’s gone missing entirely (from Prayer at the Beach):

Dear God, our baby is naked, utterly caked with sand, and screaming bloody murder because we’ve told her it’s time to go…

She’s swallowed at least a half-gallon of sea water, stomped on every sand castle within a hundred yards of our blanket, stripped off her swim diaper, and peed in front of a large family from some Scandinavian country (think tiny Speedos and white-white skin)… 

Please, Lord, if you could somehow help us get to our car with our sanity intact, I promise the next time we’re craving a little sun, we’ll stay home next to the blow-up kiddie pool.



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